


Life is Stranger with Phantom Thieves

by Dirac_Lotus



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game), Persona 5
Genre: AU - Persona, Abuse, Blood, Character Study, Depression, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Phantom Thieves - Freeform, Platonic Chasescott, Psychology, Slow Burn, Suicide, alter ego, persona - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:59:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11694099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirac_Lotus/pseuds/Dirac_Lotus
Summary: An alternate world of shadows and alter egos exists, allowing certain 'Persona' users the power to enter the hearts and minds of the warped and criminally insane to change them from within. When Max learns her old bestie Chloe is one of these 'Phantom Thieves', it isn't long before she becomes wrapped up in their web of drama and deceit.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will essentially take the story and powers from Persona 5 and give them to the LiS characters. This is something I've wanted to do for a while, as it combines my absolute two favourite fandoms in a rather cozy niche. This is mainly a LiS fic, so the elements taken from Persona will all be explained in time :)

“You own this school… If I wanted, I could blow it up… Him with it… You’re the boss…” Nathan muttered to himself, pacing between the bathroom stalls and the mirrors.  
Why exactly he was in the girls’ bathroom was anyone’s guess, but Max sure as hell wasn’t about to confront him over it. She’d much rather remain where she was, crouched at the back of the room and well out of view.

  
Not that she had much choice about the matter. She’d only stopped to take a photo of a butterfly, and the next thing she knew she was ducked inside the furthest stall, desperately hoping her stealth skills were up to par. That iridescent beauty really had come with the most astonishing sense of timing.

  
The bathroom door swung open again, louder this time, and accompanied by the heavy thud of combat boots.

  
“Look-” Nathan began.

  
“Can it, Prescott,” the intruder interrupted. “I assume you checked the perimeter, as my step-douche would say?”  
Max heard the repeated bang of cubicle doors being thrown open in turn, as though being checked. She froze in place, her breath tight in her chest. He eyes lay fixed upon the butterfly, as though willing it to stay still. She didn’t want to take any chances; certainly not with the way she’d seen Nathan react to things in the past.

  
Any minute now, whoever that other person was was going to come face to face with her, crouching in a cubicle like a voyeur with her camera.

  
“I’m not some rookie bitch, bitch. I’ve been at this longer than you have.” Nathan seemed agitated, borderline pissed off.

  
_Great_.

  
“I’m not at anything Prescott. I ain’t a part of this,” the intruder seethed. “We pop the fucker, get our vengeance, then piss off.”

  
Despite the rising spite in this intruder’s voice, something about her tone seemed… warm, and familiar. She seemed a girl, from the sound of things, and her voice had a certain nostalgic feeling to it that Max couldn’t quite place.

  
“Suits me fine,” Nathan spat. “Jeffershit’s gonna pay for he did to me.”

  
“He’ll pay for what he did to Rachel,” the girl’s voice said, somewhat more solemn this time. “You wanna kill him when we’re done, whatever. I couldn’t give a toss.”

  
Max stifled a gasp. They couldn’t seriously be talking about Mister Jefferson, could they? And what they were saying - ‘kill’ - sure as hell didn’t sound good either.

  
Just what the fuck was this? Max muddled. A psychopath and a paranoid wierdo, plotting the death of a beloved photography teacher in the grimy dark of the girls’ toilets. It was no different to playing pirates really, when she thought about it.

  
Until she thought about it some more, and realized that this was probably a police matter. Her hand slowly slid into the pocket of her hoody, reaching for the Nokia within. Her fingers brushed cool plastic,when the door to the stall beside her slammed open. She nearly yelped with surprise, throwing her hands over her mouth to stifle any noise. The movement caused the phone to slip from her pocket, landing atop her trainer and sliding to the floor beside her.

  
There was a faint clatter as the phone settled into place. Max cursed to herself, thankful that the timing of the clatter coincided with the rebound of the door.

  
Yet somehow, somehow, the blue butterfly hadn’t moved an inch. It just sat there, on the rim of a dull metal bucket, spreading its wings on occasion and more than content to take in the atmosphere.

  
“Whatever,” Nathan said. “Just get your damn phone. I wanna nail this bastard.”

  
“Believe me,” the girl said. “No-one wants to get him more than me.”

  
If Nathan had a response to that, it must have been entirely facial. Silence dawned on the bathroom for a few seconds, marred only by the rustling of the girl going through her pockets. Shortly after that a bright light shone from their direction, most likely from a phone’s screen turned up way too high. Max flinched at the wasted battery.

  
“Ready?” the girl asked, though it was clear she didn’t much care for an answer.

  
The two of them joined voices, speaking in unison.

  
“Mark Jefferson. Blackwell Academy. Talent Agency.”

  
The next thing Max knew, she was falling into a sea of red and black. Her Academy melted around her, the reassuring tacky walls of the bathroom stalls fading into nothingness. 


	2. Bathroom Distortion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A photo opportunity gone sour. An unhappy reunion. A twitchy Prescott.

 Max had never been more grateful to have her camera than she was right now. For one, this was a situation that absolutely had to be documented. For two, she needed to know whether or not she was just tripping balls.

The bathroom around her… melted. It was hard to define, as though someone had made a crappy powerpoint presentation and ‘faded’ between the two rooms. Wherever she was now was substantially cleaner, neater and more well-maintained. The peeling blue paint of the old stalls had given way to pristine white; the tacky scent of pine air freshener assaulting her nose.

She hadn’t necessarily intended to take a photo of the transformation. It was more of a reflex. She’d seen the walls melting and the hallucinatory descent of red and black, and her finger had hit the trigger.

Unfortunately for her, she’d left the flash on.

Max had the whole of two seconds before the two other figures in the bathroom rounded the corner, descending on her like angered security.

They were a strange duo, certainly nothing like she’d expected. It was Nathan who drew her attention first. The guy was wearing a three piece tuxedo and masquerade-style butterfly mask, complete with a blood red bow tie and expertly folded handkerchief in his breast pocket. He wore a pair of similarly red silk gloves, which at present gripped a tiny gilded pocket pistol, held tight in his shaking hands. The hilt of a katana could be seen poking from behind his back.

The other figure Max didn’t recognise, though that would have been rather hard, given the circumstances. Whoever she was, she wore a black balaclava, completely obscuring her face behind the poorly-knitted wool. In her hands she bore a hefty chain, studded with spikes and wrapped with what looked like razor wire. On her back was a sawn-off shotgun. Max wasn’t sure if she’d prefer that to the chain.

“Who the FUCK are you?” Nathan exclaimed, jamming the gun into Max’s forehead. In her panic she dropped the camera, prompting it to shatter on the bathroom floor.

“Yo what the hell man,” the balaclava girl said, tightening the chain between her hands as she berated the Prescott. “I thought you said you checked the perimeter?”

Nathan stepped forward, pushing the gun hard into Max’s face and forcing hard her against the wall. “Fuck you and your perimeter. I say... I pull the trigger… bang… she dies… job done.”

Max looked about for a way out of this situation. Nathan’s hands were shaking uncontrollably, and Max sure as hell didn’t like how close his finger was to that trigger. One judder in the wrong direction and she’d be dead.

“Put it down dickwad. We’re not murderers,” the balaclava girl said. She did a double take when she locked eyes with Max, her eyes widening with surprise. “MAX?!”

Max knew that voice. She knew those bright blue eyes.

“Chloe?”

Nathan let out a strained laugh, jabbing the barrel of his gun harder against her. “You know this bitch?”

A rattle of chains sounded as Chloe let her weapon slide to the floor with a clunk. Nathan’s eyes shot sideways, but his gun remained firmly in place. Chloe reached for the shotgun on her back, drawing it and pumping it in one swift, practiced movement. She tapped it on Nathan’s shoulder; two firm prods.

“This _bitch_ </em> was my friend. Put the gun down.”

Max couldn’t help but notice the venom in that phrase. Was. It hurt to hear, like a punch to the gut, far worse than the gun to the head ever could be. Sure, she hadn’t been the best at keeping in touch… but she hadn’t expected that much hate.

With an angry, seething sigh, Nathan obliged. He raised his left hand in the air, fingers outstretched as he holstered the pistol beneath his jacket with his right. “Hurry this the fuck up.”

Nathan backed away, allowing Chloe to step towards Max and lower her shotgun. She cast her gaze down towards the broken camera, noting the picture of the shifting walls that had developed with its dying breath.

“After five years you’re still Max Caulfield,” Chloe muttered, a faint smile hidden behind her mask.

“And you’re…” Max searched for the words, stammering. “I-I mean… why are you… what…”

Nathan rolled his eyes, throwing a hefty kick at a neighbouring stall door. The whole row rattled.

Chloe raised a hand, using it to peel up her balaclava to her forehead, revealing a face that had barely changed in the last five years. She was still Chloe; though admittedly her attire was somewhat different. Her hair was blue too, and there was a haunted look in her eyes that spoke only of pain.

Still Chloe, but not. She’d changed.

The blue-haired punk lay her hand upon Max’s right shoulder. “Just calm the fuck down, m'kay? This place scares us all the first time.”

Max looked about, seeing Nathan pacing impatiently in the background, muttering under his breath. “It’s more Nathan I’m worried about.”

“Oh him?” Chloe looked back at him, who’d frozen at the mention of his name. “He’s harmless. All bark and no bite. Just don’t go taking any drinks off him.”

Nathan stormed forwards, hand reaching for his gun. “What the FUCK is that supposed to mea-”

“You know damn well what it means,” Chloe cut him off, jabbing him in the stomach with the barrel of her shotgun. “You’ve got a lot of shit to answer for, Prescott,” she spat his name. “Be thankful we can’t jump in your fucking heart or you’d be rotting right about now.”

“What’s that?” Nathan recoiled angrily. “Are you threatening me? Don’t you EVER tell me-”

A loud bang resonated about the room as Chloe fired off a shot at a nearby sink, blasting it to pieces. Nathan, understandably, took a step back.

“One of us has had enough Prescott,” Chloe said calmly. “The other’s about to be picking lead from his ass for the next five years.”

Max had to admire the way Chloe spoke with such… authority. Her face was cold and unmoving, her eyes narrow and empty. Had she been in Nathan’s position she’d have been shitting herself. But from her position as a bystander, she had to admit to a strange feeling of… admiration? Respect? Arousal?

 _The hell is wrong with you Max?_   She thought to herself.

“Five years Max,” Chloe stated, staring Max down with a shotgun. “No call. No text. Not even a fucking email.”

“I’m sorry…” Max muttered. “I…”

She reached around for her excuse. Her parents forced a move? She still could have called. She was busy settling into a new city? She still could have texted.

Nothing.

“’S’what I thought,” Chloe muttered. She shook her head and turned her back.

Max watched as Chloe’s head whipped round, as her hand pulled down her balaclava and hid that blue mess of hair. The pain she saw in Chloe’s eyes was killing her. _What had she seen? Just what had happened to hurt her so bad_?

She felt awful. Five years and she hadn’t said a word. She’d just left Chloe to deal with her pain. What kind of a friend did that?

As if sensing the situation, an oppressive darkness flooded the bathroom. The light above their heads flickered, making tiny buzzing sounds as it clung desperately to life. Then came a groaning noise, followed by a scraping; as though a thousand jagged nails were yanked across a blackboard, with the accompanying scream of something primal and agonized.

Something was coming.

“Good job bitch,” Nathan yelled, holding his head in his hands. “Thanks for the noise. You just blew our whole operation.”

“What operation?” Chloe retorted, pulling a revolver from one of her boots. “Kill Jefferson. That was the plan, that’s still the goddamn plan. We fight our way to him. Victory or death, remember?” She flicked him a menacing grin, as though knowing full well the impact of her next words. “Or what are you? Coward?”

Nathan sneered, drawing the katana from the gaudily-coloured sheath on his back. “No-one. Calls. Me. COWARD.”

“Take it out on the Shadows,” Chloe commanded, watching him turn to face the door.

She turned to Max. “Here,” she said, holding out the revolver. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed Max’s arm and forced her hand open, ‘insisting’ that she take the gun. “Know how to use this thing?”

Max shook her head, holding the gun as far from her body as she could.

“If it helps,” Chloe said coolly. “Think of them as bottles. They’re no more alive.” With that, she picked the spiked chain from the floor, twirling it about in her hands.

A thud sounded at the door, followed by a ghastly scratching noise. Black mist permeated the cracks in the doorway, seeping into the bathroom with a noxious smell. Max looked about for an exit, praying for a window - something - anything to get out of this.

Another thud. The door shuddered in its frame. Max was having no luck finding her escape route.

“Party time,” Nathan grinned, a homicidal glint in his eye.

The door shattered, and the Shadows spilled in.

 

* * *

 

Nathan grunted as he swung his katana towards the shadowed mass that burst from the door. The blade met it as though it were solid, slicing through and splashing black fluids about the walls and his suit. A lick of flame shot through the gap created in the darkness, blasting Nathan in the face and sending him reeling into a sink.

Figures slithered their way through the opening, following in the wake of the flame.  
  
And figures was just about the best term Max could find for them. At present, they seemed to be little more than formless blobs of oil, slick puddles that oozed their way through the door and onto the floor like putty. Were it not for the haphazard array of claws and tormented faces she could see violently emerging from them, she’d have thought them harmless.

A loud shot echoed around the room as Chloe unloaded her shotgun, already inserting new shells for her next attack. Whatever ‘Shadow’ took a hit from the blast simply evaporated into nothingness.

“Azazel!” Nathan yelled, reaching a hand to his face and casting aside his masquerade mask.

A wall of ice formed instantly over the doorway, slicing the Shadows currently seeping through in twain. Moments later, the chaos was over. Whatever remained on their side of the ice flailed about uselessly on the floor, either evaporating or being blown apart by further shots from Chloe’s shotgun.

A perverse cold filled the room, emanating from the icy barrier. Max shuddered as it reached her like a wave, rubbing her arms for warmth. She wasn’t entirely sure if the goosebumps were down to the chill or the fear. Probably both, she conceded. Definitely fear, once she saw the bathroom’s newest denizen.

A large figure, rippling with muscle and bulk, stood over Nathan. Its skin was bright crimson, like that of a devil; and it had the horns and goat legs to match. A pair of serpentine heads with golden eyes and fangs dripping with venom writhed from their perches atop meter-long necks. Three pairs of red-hued bat wings sprouted from its back, barely fitting into the bathroom that seemed all-too-small now.

One of the snake heads struck out at Max, snapping just inches from her left cheek. She took a further step back, bashing into the wall behind her.

The three-headed being - Azazel - raised a clawed hand, formed another layer of ice over the currently existing, already cracked and failing, one. Evidently, the Shadows were still trying to get in, and possessed a great deal of strength for something so formless.

“The hell is that thing?” Max yelled, pushing herself against the wall as best she could. _Do. Not. Freak. Out._ She told herself.

“Nathan’s inner self,” Chloe answered coolly. “His Persona. Call it Azazel, and don’t worry - it’s one of the good guys. Kinda.”

There was another thud. A hairline crack appeared upon the new layer of ice, white flakes falling like disturbed dust. Azazel clumsily approached the ice, ducking awkwardly in the cramped confines of the bathroom. Ice spread from the hand it held to the barrier. The two serpentine heads writhed about the room uncontrollably, thick venom drooling in their wake.

“Good guy… whatever…” Nathan muttered. “It’s not enough… There’s too many of them…”

“So what do we do?” Max asked, jumping as the hairline crack became a fair bit more noticeable.

“Get… Samael…” Nathan screamed. Another crack in the ice appeared.

“NO!” Chloe yelled back even louder. “Abandon mission. Return to the real world. Save the girl. Whatever.”

“No fucking way are we turning back now… Nail the teacher, that was the plan, that’s what we do… One nosey little bitch changes NOTHING!”

Chloe reached into her black hoodie, pulling a smartphone from the depths of her pocket.

“Do I have a say in this?” Max asked.

“No,” Chloe stated.

With that, and despite Nathan’s continued protestations, she unlocked her phone. Her thumb met the bright red icon for the ‘MetaNav’ app that sat in the middle of her home screen. Instantly it was replaced by a screen of red static, the silhouette of an eye taking center point atop it. Strangely, the eye’s pupil was star shaped. Though admittedly, that was one of the least strange things Max had seen today.

“Bitch!” Nathan yelled, taking a step towards Chloe. As he did, the formal trousers he wore began to tear away and melt, his original black jeans emerging from underneath. After a second step, his suit jacket and shirt tore apart and fluttered away, replaced by the red jacket Max had come to know him by. With a third, his gloves vanished, alongside his katana.

Chloe fared little better; her night-black attire fading to be replaced by a black jacket and skull shirt. Her balaclava transformed into a blue beanie, sitting atop brilliant blue hair that hadn’t changed.

Then the walls changed, melting psychedelically back to the standard Blackwell girls’ bathroom.


	3. Persona Revalations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke's pretty chill. Chloe has issues. Max hates people meddling with her phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of chapter two is now up - if you haven't yet seen it, just go back and start reading from the horizontal line :) Sorry about that, I'd intended for it to be a part of this chapter but it seemed to flow much better as it is now. So apologies again - I'll make sure it doesn't reoccur! (I blame my over-excitement in posting this crossover fic of two epic fandoms).

“When did you lot get in?” Brooke asked as she exited a cubicle. She walked right past the bewildered Max and to the sink, washing her hands before adjusting her hair.

Max looked to Nathan, who was currently fuming at Chloe and looking very well like he might hit her were it not for the multiple witnesses. Right now, he seemed to be holding back his rage.

“Must have missed us,” Chloe shrugged, leaning against the wall as coolly as she could. “’Sup”, she nodded to Brooke.

An awkward silence descended upon the four of them for some time, as the three new arrivals waited for Brooke to leave. Max considered popping into a cubicle, if only to escape the mounting tension and social anxiety.

Brooke turned to Chloe as she left, opening her mouth for a moment before speaking. “Well… enjoy.” With that, she headed out of the bathroom door.

“The fuck did you do that for?” Nathan exploded the moment the door shut. He walked up against Chloe, pushing her into the wall with his shoulders.

“We’re not putting Max in danger,” Chloe replied, trying to keep cool. “We’ll try again later.”

“Damn right we will,” Nathan seethed, contorting his face in anger. He slammed a fist against a nearby mirror, forcing a crack a to form amidst a smear of blood. “Because I don’t give a fuck about the route. We’re sending that calling card tomorrow.”

Then Nathan threw the door open and stormed out, making sure to slam it behind him.

Chloe sighed, pushing herself off the wall and walking towards Max. She slapped a hand to her shoulder, drawing her into a brief hug. “Glad you’re safe Max.”

_Safe_. Max thought to herself, leaning into Chloe’s embrace. _Sure._ She’d only angered a Prescott with her very presence; not to mention nearly being eaten by a weird snake-demon and a horde of shadows..

She gently pushed herself away from Chloe, recalling how her camera had shattered moments earlier. Within seconds she was on her knees on the bathroom floor, scooping up the remnants in her hands with a curse and a pained sigh. “Shit.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Chloe chuckled. She strode over to where Max knelt, hunched over and picked up the Polaroid that had been the camera’s last. “Woah,” she exclaimed, recoiling from the image. “You actually got something.”

The picture itself was something that could only have been achieved with some serious camera trickery, or good photoshop skills. It was as though someone had made an oil painting of the bathroom, then painted over it with their opinion of where the rich and powerful took a shit. Were that not enough, the image was distorted in swirls and blurs, as though the artist had then dragged the paints around in spirals; permanently merging the two pieces.

It sure as hell did not look like any polaroid either of them had ever seen.

“Think mister Jefferson will like it?” Max asked.

“It’s amazeballs,” Chloe flapped the photo about in her hand, passing it over to Max. “Almost makes it a shame that murdering fucker won’t be your teacher from tomorrow.”

There she went with that ‘murdering’ talk again. This was not normal, Max thought, wondering what on earth mister Jefferson could have done to warrant such hatred and repulsion.

This wasn’t right. None of this was right, she thought, scooping up the remains of her camera into her bag.

“Anyways,” Chloe continued, stepping away from her. “We should get outta here before that girl calls security.”  
  
“Who, Brooke? She’s cool.”

“Whatever,” Chloe said, grabbing Max under the arm and pulling her towards the door. “I ain’t taking my chances, not with step-douche around the corner.”

Max shrugged, not entirely protesting under Chloe’s grip. “She’s not out to get me anymore, not now that she’s taking Warren to the drive-in.”

That rivalry had been one misguided venture from the start. She’d always thought Brooke to be pretty cool, were she not out for blood at the mere mention of Warren. She never did understand that girl’s fixation.

_Water under the bridge._

“Boy problems?” Chloe asked with a wicked grin.

“Ew. No.” Max frowned.

Chloe chuckled. “Yep. Definitely Max Caulfield,” she said, leading Max out of the front door of the school and towards her beaten-up pickup truck.

Max didn’t much complain as Chloe bundled her into the car, nor as she drove the two of them off without a care in the world for speed limits and road traffic courtesy. For a moment, it almost felt like old times; quite jarring, in a sense.

Then Max remembered the shotgun, the shadows and Azazel, and shuddered.

Those old times wouldn’t be coming back any time soon.

* * *

 

Chloe hadn’t been kidding when she said her room looked a bit different to the last time Max had seen it.

Some things hadn’t changed much; the posters of pretentious bands were still plastered all over the walls, detritus still littered the floor and the vast array of CDs were pretty much as Max remembered them. But then there was graffiti everywhere - emo in some places, anarchistic in others, and downright random at times. The ‘hole to another universe’ in particular caught Max’s eye, as did the Illuminati symbol.

Maybe they really had gone to another universe in that bathroom, Max thought. If not that, then some sort of parallel dimension.

She had to tell Warren. This was the sort of shit he lived for.

“Put on some music while I medicate,” Chloe commanded, lying back on her bed and flicking her lighter. The joint between her lips lit up as she inhaled, the sickly scent of weed filling her room.

Not that it didn’t already smell of the stuff.

Max rolled her eyes, unnoticed by Chloe. The old times were gone indeed, it would seem. Chloe was really embracing this new rebellious punk persona.

There was a CD player sitting atop a shelf in the corner of the room, right where Max remembered it to be. A vast assortment of CDs were scattered about the floor in front of it, the rest of them stacked beside each other on the shelves.

_Can’t hurt to look around_ , Max figured. Chloe had changed; maybe she could try to find some common ground again.

That was her excuse for snooping, anyway.

She found a bill from an auto-repair place, with a ludicrous sum of money demanded at the bottom. Add that to the vast assortment of speeding tickets, parking fines and outstanding bills and Chloe was in a whole new world of debt. Though admittedly, some of them were quite well deserved. Parking in a disabled bay was a bit of a dick move from her.

No common ground there then. Max had always been good with her money, saving and squandering for the next console or camera accessory. The sheer amount of debt hurt to even look at.

Then she saw the metal box under the bed. That was a secret she just had to investigate.  
  
Max slid the box from under the bed easily enough. Chloe too engaged in whatever it was she was thinking about to notice, which she took as a sign to continue.

Mementos. The box held a CD - a mix tape from the looks of things, a folded picture and an assortment of coins. There was a feather in there too, and a letter that seemed to be rather well-travelled, covered in postage stamps and stickers.

She picked the photo gingerly from the box, unfolding it in her hands. It was of a girl, with all the looks and confidence of a model, standing beside a rudely-gesticulating Chloe. Whoever she was, the two of them seemed close. The feather in the box matched the one the girl wore in the photo.

“Hey, gimme that,” Chloe snapped, snatching the photo from Max’s hands.

Max went flush with embarrassment, berating herself for intruding on her… ex-best friend’s privacy. “Sorry,” she said softly, looking down. “I wasn’t trying to be nosey. Obviously she was a good friend…”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Chloe muttered, holding her head in her hands.

Max stood carefully, walking slowly towards the bed Chloe sat upon. She sat down a respectable distance away from her, but close enough to be comforting… she hoped.

“She was my angel,” Chloe continued. “After my dad died and you moved, I felt abandoned. Rachel saved my life.”

“I had no idea,” Max said quietly. A twinge of unidentified emotion surged through her, hitting her in the gut like a tidal wave. Was it guilt? Envy?

“Well you never made much effort to find out. I was fourteen. We were best friends.”

“I never forgot,” Max said, inching towards Chloe across the bed. “Even if I was an asshole and didn’t keep in touch. But you had Rachel…”

Chloe pulled up her legs, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Rachel had my back. We were gonna change the world. Kick its ass, one heart at a time.”

“What happened?”

“She died,” Chloe snapped, stubbing out the remnants of her joint on the bottom of her boot. She flicked the butt into the corner of her room, standing up from the bed and pacing to and fro the closet. “Murdered.”

Max flinched, already knowing where this was going. But she couldn’t leave this alone. Not after what she’d seen.

“By Jefferson?” she asked, though it was more of a statement really.

Chloe nodded. “Son of a bitch tortured her… Tied her up in a basement… stripped her and…” her lip trembled. She slammed a fist against the wall. “He took pictures Max!” She slammed again. “All for his ‘art’.”

Max sat, clenching the duvet in her fists beneath her. Maybe… maybe she was mistaken. Maybe she hallucinated it all, or had a mental breakdown or…

No. It had been years, but Max still knew Chloe. Something told her this was not a normal situation; not by any standards.

“That’s beyond fucked up,” she exclaimed. “I…” She wasn’t really sure where to go from there. What was there to even say? She found few words, and wasn’t very happy with the ones she opted for. “Can’t you go to the police or something?”

Chloe snorted, a defeated and hollow laugh. “And then what? We have no evidence. We don’t even have a body…”

“How…” Max stopped herself for a moment, thinking her words through. “How can you be sure? I mean, I believe you. I don’t like it… and I’m not entirely sure I believe it, but I believe you Chloe. Really. Know what I mean?”

Chloe paused for a moment, then took several steps towards her. A glimmer of a smile crossed her face; it stood out from the sorrow that so marred her complexion.

“Thanks Max,” she said. “Really.”

“So how do you know it was him?” Max asked. She looked to the CD player, suddenly aware that she’d never gotten round to putting on any music. Too late now. Getting up and fiddling with the hi-fi would only spoil the mood.

Chloe sighed, putting her head in her hands again. “It’s hard to explain,” she said. “Hella hard.”

She stopped for a moment, caught as an idea came to her.

“It’ll be easier if I show you,” she said. She took her phone from her pocket, unlocking the screen and showing it to Max. There was a strange red app there, the one she recognized from earlier.

“Are we going back?” Max asked. “’Cos my cameras busted and I need to fix it.” She reached into her messenger bag and withdrew the remnants of her camera, placing it on the bed beside her. She took the photos out too - one of the blue butterfly, and one of the bathroom walls, and set them next to it.

“One moment.” Chloe chucked her phone onto the duvet, darting over to a corner of her room and sifting through the detritus on her shelves for something. She flung aside empty CD cases and clothes, both clean and used, as she hunted for whatever it is that caught her attention.

In a moment idle curiosity, Max took out her own phone. There was a text from Warren on there; something about wanting one of his flash drives of anime and terrible movies back.

Then she noticed it was on her home screen. The same red app as she could see on Chloe’s phone. The same one she’d seen her use moments earlier.

Shit. She sure as hell didn’t remember installing it. She swiped the app into the trash to uninstall it, locking her phone and sliding it back into her pocket. No way in hell was she having anything to do with that. Not on _her_ phone. No-one messed with her phone.

“Here,” Chloe said with a smile, approaching Max. She held out her hands, extending an old polaroid camera towards her. “I, er, know it was your birthday last month… This was my real father’s camera… I want you to have it.”

Max took the camera, turning it over in her hands. It was beautiful; so old and full of memories. It was perfect.

“That’s so cool you remembered my birthday,” she smiled. Then she held out her hand, offering the camera back. “But I can’t take this.”

Chloe stepped towards her, placing her hands on the camera and pushing it gently back towards Max’s chest. “Of course you can,” she said, winding her hands around the camera till they met Max’s, pushing them hard against the camera. “My dad would be pissed if I never used it. And now I know it will be used awesomely.”

Chloe then reached over, picking up the photo of the butterfly on the bed. “And I’ll snag this picture as a symbol of our reunion. Cool?”

“Yes, of course it’s cool!” Max beamed, holding the camera tightly. A photo for the camera? That was one hell of a trade. She’d have let Chloe take her then and there if she wanted; anything for this camera.

She wasn’t entirely sure where that feeling came from. She hoped it said more about her desire for quality hipster photography than angry punk girls.

And there it was again. That feeling. Why?

“You okay there Mad Max?” Chloe frowned, punching her lightly on the shoulder. “You totally spaced.”

Max shook her head, grounding herself back in reality. “Sorry… it’s… this camera is so sweet.”

“Well,” Chloe said, picking her phone back up off the bed. “Now that we got the mushy shit out of the way, I suppose I oughta explain things.” She pressed the red button on her phone. An highly synthesized woman’s voice spoke up.

“Enter destination.”

“Finger on the trigger Max,” Chloe grinned. She spoke into the phone. “Mementos.”

Once more, the walls melted away.


End file.
